The Old Oak and the Christmas Tree Place
In Search of The Perfect Christmas Tree
"One hundred years from now, it
will not matter what my bank account was, how big my house was, or what kind
of car I drove; but the world may be a little better, because I was
important in the life of a child."
For twelve years now, my youngest son and I have gone in search of the
perfect Christmas tree. It was easier for us to carry out these yearly treks
when he was younger and lived at home. But, as kids tend to do, he grew up,
and went off to college, and then to grad school, and now lives nearly four
But, one thing about Kevin (my youngest), he's a stickler for tradition.
Neither mud, rain, snow, sleet, fog, thunderstorms, floods, or sub-zero
winds (and we've sloshed and nearly-froze-to-death through many of them)
would stop him from completing our traditional yearly mission. And, who am I
to scoff at tradition? I'm the family elder (and I get reminded of that
often - even though I'm a child inside. It seems that your children never let you forget
your age). I guess that makes me the current "Keeper of The Tradition".
Each year for twelve years now, during the first week or two in December, we
set off on a journey in search of the perfect Christmas tree. This year,
because of my son's schedule, we had to move our date up a little - but the tradition must continue!
The area in which I live is mostly rural with an abundance of small farms,
forests, and, fortunately, Christmas tree farms. I say fortunately, because
if one is in search of the perfect Christmas tree, one needs choices and
lots of them.
For most people, getting a Christmas tree is a half-hour jaunt. Go to the
local tree lot, pick out a tree, throw it in the trunk and head home (or get
the perfect artificial tree, which by the way is an oxymoron). But not for
us. Most of our sojourns last six or seven hours and one hundred twenty
miles or so. This year was to be no different.
I hadn't seen Kevin in nearly two months, but once he got back home and we
took off on our search, it seemed to me that we had never been apart. We
were just as comfortable with one another as we have always been. I told
Kevin that this is how you know you're close to someone - you can be apart
for months but when you get together again it's like you were never parted.
This year was particularly cold, windy, icy, damp and miserable. The perfect
day for one of our best traditions.
Our "Christmas tree farm of choice" is one we can never find. It seems,
every year, we forget how to get there. Some years we never make it there
because we cannot find it. It seems that the months from Christmas to
Christmas last but a few weeks anymore, yet, either my memory is going or
it's kind of fun to forget. I'm certain Kevin's memory is not going yet, I
think he forgets on purpose too.
Anyway, we did find it last year, and wouldn't you know we found it this
year too. I cheated and called a friend of mine who grew up in the area
where the farm is, if you must know. But when we arrived at "Granny's
Christmas Tree Farm" bright and early around 10:00 AM, there was no one
around; the place was deserted. My son even got out of the truck and went
and knocked on several doors. No answer. Bah! Humbug! With a little sadness
(for we just knew the perfect tree was hiding somewhere on Granny's 38 acres
just waiting for us) and a lot of determination, we set off, once again, on
our yearly quest for the "perfect" Christmas tree.
Several tree farms and a hundred miles later, the back of my truck was
barren. No tree at all. The perfect Christmas tree was just as elusive this
year as it has been every other year. Perfection, it seems, is never easy to
With wet feet, and red, rosy cheeks, we remain undaunted. Our mission is not
complete. Onward we go. Four hours and still not even close to finding that
elusive perfect Christmas tree. As it turns out, that's s good thing. It
gives us plenty of time to talk. This year I discovered that Kevin has a
little philosopher in him. He pointed out that in among humankind it seems
it's always the "beautiful" people that Lady Luck smiles on the most. You
know what I mean: the best jobs, the most money, all the best of all the
stuff that doesn't really matter.
But Kevin, in all his youthful wisdom pointed out that in
the world of Christmas trees, it pays to be ugly. The ugly trees are there
year after year watching their "beautiful" friends sawed down and taken away to be decorated and admired for a
couple of weeks, after which they are dragged to the tree lawn and hauled off by men in
filthy, tattered,, work coats - and thrown unceremoniously into the back of a big
garbage truck. In the world of Christmas Trees, the ugly survive. Its the
ugly trees that survive and stand tall, year after year, in fields full of holes and stumps.
After making our tour of every Christmas tree farm we could find we decided
that, for the first time in the history of our tradition, we may have to
give up for the day and return home empty handed. And, try again the next
day. But, we decided to give Granny's Christmas Tree Farm one final try. And
it's a good thing we did.
We pulled into Granny's and found that it was now open although certainly
not overrun with Christmas tree seekers. There was only one other car there.
So, we found ourselves alone to roam thirty-eight acres in search of the
perfect Christmas tree.
Granny's land is some of the most beautiful land I've ever seen around this
area. This is northern Ohio. We don't have mountains. We don't even have big
hills. The glaciers, millions of years ago, made sure of that. But Granny's
land is full of woods, streams, and rolling land that seems to stretch as
far as the eye can see. How lucky one would be to live in a place like this.
Quiet, pristine, bucolic and so far away from the "madding crowd".
We walked and walked and walked the trails, to, in and through the Christmas
trees. We looked at every tree with artist's eyes. We sized up hundreds of
trees to see how close they came to the perfect Christmas tree we
envisioned. As we were walking the southern edge of the farm, we spotted a
huge, towering oak tree. It has stood in that same spot for over
four-hundred fifty years. When that oak was young native Americans were the
only Americans. That tree was over one-hundred and fifty years old when the
Declaration of Independence was signed. When that tree was in its youth the
Elizabethan Age in England had just begun with the death of Queen Mary and
the ascension to the throne of Elizabeth, the daughter of Henry VIII by Anne
And there it stood, majestically above everything, watching us, here in the
year 2005. If only we could get that tree to tell us what it has seen. The
changes that it must have witnessed. How strange it was to see such a
majestic oak in the middle of thousands of Christmas trees. We want to go
back and photograph it when its leaves are painted for autumn and its long
shadows stretch long into a crisp autumn evening. We stood and looked in awe
and I think I saw it looking back at us. If it did, it was nothing if not
We were cold, wet and hungry by this time. But, the perfect Christmas tree
was waiting: out there, somewhere. Another half-hour passed and suddenly
Kevin said: "Dad, look at this one!". I knew from the sound of his voice (we
are experienced in this sort of hunt, you know!) that indeed the end of our
quest drew near. I cast a critical eye at the blue spruce he had found and
it was, the perfect Christmas tree.
I held the tree upright as he carefully sawed the truck - soon it would be
in my truck and another successful Christmas tree hunt would be complete. I
felt a little tug of sadness at that thought - I always look forward to this
adventure each year, no matter how old my son gets (or how old I get) it's
just as much fun now as it was when he was a young boy - and now, it was
over for this year. But, years come and go so quickly anymore - before I
know it, we'll be out there next year cold, wet, and muddy and sharing some
special moments together. And savoring each one of them.
With the tree harvested and us exhausted we carried the heavy tree a little way
and then spotted "Bob" (the owner of the farm) approaching in his pickup
truck (with tree-hauling trailer attached) - come to rescue us, I'm sure! It was
a welcome site to our shivering, weary eyes! Bob helped us place our "perfect" Christmas tree in the trailer and he
drove us, and our prize, back to my truck. We paid for the tree and put it in
my truck. Then, we headed home. A mission accomplished. A tradition
As we were unloading the truck and carrying the tree around to the back of
my house, I looked at my son and thought about how close we had grown over the
years; and how proud I was of him and all he's become. I knew then, exactly
what a perfect Christmas looks like and what it means.
What makes our perfect Christmas trees perfect is not the way they look.
What makes our Christmas trees perfect is the love and tradition that go into
each one of them. What makes our Christmas trees perfect is
knowing that my son will carry on our tradition with his children. And, long
after I'm gone, my son and his grandchildren will carry on the tradition
that we started. And, I have a feeling that even after I'm long gone, I will still be right there with them
- if only because someone
will be remembering me.
It makes me feel good to think that the world might just be a little better place because
I was important in the life of a child.
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